Quidditch and Companionship
by Chika-chan
Summary: Another cheesy story with another cheesy title from the Queen of Cheesy! Er ... Harry is hanging out in Diagon Alley and meets an old friend and former captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team (guess whoooo ... ::rolls eyes::)
1. Chapter One

I honestly have no idea where I came up with this, nor can I tell you why I felt the need to post it. Make way for the weirdest pairing of the century: Harry and Oliver!  
  
Disclaimer: I own nothing. Consider yourselves extremely, truly, and very very very lucky.  
  
1 Quidditch and Companionship  
  
"Harry! Hey, Harry! Over here!"  
  
The raven haired, green eyed boy commonly known as The Boy Who Lived, or to his friends, The Boy Who Wouldn't Know Love If It Hit Him In The Face, turned around, confused. He could have sworn he'd heard someone calling his name, but he couldn't see anyone. And damned if he could figure it out by just the sound of the voice.  
  
"Hssst! Harry, I'm right behind you!" said the now-clearly Scottish accented voice.  
  
Harry obediently turned around again and came face to face with . a man in a Muggle hat and sunglasses; the last things he expected to see in Diagon Alley. A Scottish accent, now where had he heard one of those before? .  
  
"Oliver! Oliver Wood, is that you?" he asked, recognition dawning on him.  
  
"Shhhh, Potter, not so loud. I've become just famous enough for people to recognize me, sort of like they notice you. I swear I was being stalked by a couple of hags back there."  
  
Harry laughed, "Ahh, yes. I do keep forgetting that I'm friends with an internationally famous Quidditch player."  
  
Oliver grinned and pulled off his sunglasses, hooking them on the neck of his low-cut sweater. He'd grown just the slightest bit taller since Harry had last seen him two years ago, he was more toned, tanned as well. His eyes were the same, though. That same comforting hazel brown colors that Harry remembered nearly falling in love with.  
  
"So, Potter," Oliver grinned wider, "Care to have lunch with me?"  
  
* * *  
  
"So what brings a Quidditch player like yourself to Diagon Alley?" Harry asked.  
  
They were sitting in the Leaky Cauldron, having had just finished eating, and now were waiting for their bill to come. Oliver looked over at the younger man from across the table, swishing around a beer. He looked into the amber liquid as if it held answers for him.  
  
"Needed to get some new Quidditch robes. And a broom-care kit," he shrugged, "What're you doing down here?"  
  
Harry sighed, looking into his glass of pumpkin juice.  
  
"Looking for some familiar faces. Staying with the Dursley's is a lonely thing."  
  
"You could stay with me," Oliver said suddenly, "I've got a game tomorrow, then I'll be hanging around for a week or so. . Living by yourself is a lonely thing."  
  
Harry found himself stunned. He'd known Oliver for only three years, surely that was no ground for the older man to invite him to stay. A little voice argued that technically he had know Oliver for six years, but after seeing him briefly when he was fourteen, Harry had not seen or heard from the older boy until now. Now being his, Harry's, sixth year of Hogwarts, which meant that Oliver had to be at least twenty.  
  
"Eh, sure. Why not?" Harry heard himself saying, "That'd be great. It'd be nice to catch up on things. Maybe you can give me some tips on how to get myself signed onto an internationally renowned Quidditch team."  
  
Oliver grinned widely, tossing back the last of his beer.  
  
"Brilliant! I've got a flat down here now, and it could use a house- warming party. It's a bit small, but it should fit the two of us nicely," he waved his wand and a ticket appeared on the battered table, "So we don't miss each other, come to the game. This should be a prime seat, and it'll get you into the lockers so we can leave together."  
  
Harry picked up the ticket and pocketed it carefully.  
  
"I'll be there," he promised, "Wouldn't miss it for the world."  
  
The goblin waiter collected their money for the bill and they stood. Oliver placed his sunglasses on as he and Harry exited, and for a brief moment they stood side by side. Harry was pleased to note that he was now only a head shorter than the older man was, rather than being half his size.  
  
"Well then, Potter," the Quidditch player smiled, "Be seeing you."  
  
"Right. Tomorrow, then."  
  
Oliver seemed hesitant to leave, as if trying to make an important decision. Then he seemed to come to a decision, launched himself forward to give Harry a quick hug and something that felt suspiciously like a kiss to his hair, and took off. Harry didn't move until he was shoved out of the way by an impatient wizard.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
The next day, Harry arrived at the stadium nearly two hours early, anxious to see Oliver and his team practicing.  
  
No you don't, that nasty voice in the back of his head informed him, You just want to see Oliver flying above you so you can get a good look at his bum.  
  
Okay, Harry admitted to himself, maybe that was a benefit, but he did want to see the team in action anyway. He was allowed in after being thoroughly searched by a security guard, and he climbed to the top box where he would sit. The top seats were always the best, but he'd brought along his Omnoculars just incase. Finally he found his seat, and got a good look at the huge stadium.  
  
There were the Chasers, tossing around the Quaffle, trying to get past the Keeper. There were the Beaters, beating the Bludgers furiously at each other. There was the Seeker, hanging about on the opposite end of the stadium, looking for the Snitch. And there was Oliver, the Keeper; blocking shot after shot cleanly. Through his Omnoculars, Harry could see the delighted smiles and the smug looks that lit up Oliver's face whenever he performed a good play.  
  
"And boy does he look cute when he does that," Harry muttered, not realizing what he'd just said.  
  
The practice continued for nearly an hour, then Oliver's team was shooed off so the other team could have a go. Simply to enjoy more flying, Oliver took a loop around the field, and noticed Harry waving wildly to him. He flew over and landed in the box, still hovering on his broom.  
  
"Enjoying yourself, Harry?" Oliver asked.  
  
"Definitely! You're wonderful out there!" Harry told him shyly, "You've really become a professional."  
  
Oliver beamed at him. "Coming from the youngest seeker to ever grace the Gryffindor team, I take that as a compliment."  
  
"Don't compare yourself to me," Harry moaned, "You're professional! I'm not even close!"  
  
"But you could be. Just wait and see. When you graduate, you'll have teams all over you trying to get you to sign," the Keeper assured him, "Our Seeker has been talking of retiring sometime in the next twenty years, maybe you can get signed as reserve or something."  
  
"That would be great . but at the moment I'm thinking of training to be an Auror or something."  
  
Harry thought he saw a disappointed, or worried, look pass over Oliver's face. He convinced himself that it was just his hopeful imagination, because the older man soon smiled.  
  
"Well then, Potter, I'll just have to keep wishing, won't I?" the Keeper asked, then looked at his watch, "Oh my! Look at that, it's near time for the game.!"  
  
Sure enough, people were slowly filing into the stadium, looking for their seats. Oliver grabbed hold of his broom and smiled at Harry.  
  
"I'll be seeing you after the game, right?"  
  
"Of course! I've got some stuff in the baggage security," Harry replied, smiling as well, "Go knock 'em dead, will you?"  
  
"I shall do my best," Oliver gave a sweeping mock bow, then looked up and winked, "Just so long as they don't drop dead from the sight of you first, O Boy Who Lived."  
  
Then he Apparated away, probably to the locker rooms, leaving Harry behind, stunned and slightly irritated.  
  
"They will /not/ drop dead at the sight of me," he huffed, crossing his arms and staring resolutely down at the field.  
  
As if to disprove that statement, however, a young girl who had a seat in his box took notice of his scar, gave a piercing screech of disbelief, and fell in a dead faint. Harry groaned and hit his head on the back of the chair in front of him.  
  
"This is /not/ what I had in mind when I came out for this game."  
  
  
  
~ Finis, chapter one ~  
  
So? Not too horrible, is it? Let me know, feedback results in more chapters! (Though you can bet there won't be more than three or four at the rate this is going. Aren't you just so happy now? ::smiles::) 


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter two! Sorry about that rant/complaint folks, but I was very, very, very mad when I wrote it. I'd had a bad day, and that review was sort of the last thing I really needed to come home to. At any rate, here's chapter two.  
  
Enjoy!  
  
1 Day One - Oliver's House  
  
"The game was spectacular!" Harry gushed two hours later.  
  
Oliver grinned, slightly embarrassed, and ruffled Harry's hair. The younger boy shook off his hand with a grin of his own and sat down next to his former Quidditch captain.  
  
"You little bugger . " Oliver grinned, "We lost."  
  
"But it was such a spectacular loss!" Harry insisted.  
  
"You're lucky the locker room's empty," the older man sighed in good humor, "Otherwise you'd have the entire team trying to beat you to death with the Beater's clubs."  
  
"They take loss that hard, huh?"  
  
"Yep."  
  
"Ah well . just so long as you don't try to drown yourself in the showers," Harry sighed, remembering the Quidditch match they'd lost in his third year.  
  
"Yes . well . " Oliver trailed off, laughing from embarrassment, also remembering the match.  
  
Harry had been rendered unconscious because of the Dementors' presence at the field, and the only reason why he was still alive was because of Albus Dumbledore, who had been present as well. The man had saved him from a fifty-foot plummet to his death, Harry remembered with a shiver.  
  
"Cold?" Oliver asked.  
  
"N- no . " Harry stammered.  
  
It wasn't a complete lie. He wasn't cold physically, but thinking of the Dementors brought a cold feeling that filled him from head to toe, and didn't seem to want to go away. Oliver looked at him as if knowing the truth, but he smiled and placed a friendly hand on Harry's shoulder as he pushed himself up from the bench. Then he held out that same hand to offer Harry help up. Unsure of himself, Harry took that offered hand, and promptly any cold feelings gave way to a nice, tingling warmth.  
  
No, no, no! What am I thinking? I can't be . no! He's an internationally famous Quidditch player!, Harry yelled at himself.  
  
You're internationally famous for being alive.  
  
But he's five years older than me!  
  
At least it's not ten.  
  
But . but  
  
1.1 Yeah, that's what I though, Harry .  
  
"Harry? . Harry?"  
  
Suddenly Harry became aware of Oliver's face being horribly close to his own. He stared into deep brown eyes that were startlingly bright and full of concern. Then he became aware of both Oliver's hands on his shoulders, and the fact that they were still in the locker rooms.  
  
"Harry? Are yeh all right?"  
  
Harry shook his head to clear the cobwebs and forced himself to look away from Oliver's eyes.  
  
"Yes, I'm fine. Sorry 'bout that. I just zoned out, I guess."  
  
"Yeh certainly did!" Oliver sighed, but grinned, "Thought I'd lost yeh to the clouds."  
  
"Well, I'm back down on earth now. We can leave."  
  
"O' course. I've taken the liberty of requesting that one of the security goblins bring your stuff around back, so we can leave directly."  
  
"That's fine. The sooner we can get started, the better, eh?" Harry grinned.  
  
Oliver coughed lightly and looked away. If it had been anyone else, Harry would have sworn that they were blushing, but this was Oliver! Oliver Wood didn't blush! . Right?  
  
"Yeah, let's go," the older man said, leading the way.  
  
* * *  
  
"Well, here we are," Oliver announced.  
  
Harry entered the flat in Godric's Hollow after him, looking around curiously. The only other wizard home he'd ever been in was The Burrow, and that was quite different from any house one could find, period.  
  
"It's a bit of a mess, and rather small," the Scottish man was explaining hurridly, "I've only got one room, and there's not much furniture to speak of. I'm sure you're used to much better living quarters than here, but this is all I can offer and - "  
  
"Oliver!" Harry said loudly.  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"It's wonderful. I love it. I'm most definitely not used to anything better than this. In fact, I'm used to much, much, much worse. It's not exactly five-star quality in a cupboard under the stairs, you know."  
  
Oliver looked at Harry, as if he'd never quite given thought to the fact that Harry might not have been as well off as everyone assumed. But he grinned and shrugged sheepishly and set down his bag that held all his Quidditch equipment in a closet.  
  
"I'm off for a week, I don't even want to look at it!" he announced.  
  
Harry chuckled.  
  
"Not even to clean your robes?"  
  
"Er . well . that'll eventually have to happen. But it won't be for a while," Oliver replied sheepishly.  
  
Harry laughed and continued his inspection of the flat, finding the bathroom, kitchen, and the bedroom. In the bedroom, he saw a desk, a clock, a closet, and a door leading off to the bathroom. There wasn't much else by way of decoration or furniture, but Harry still thought it was wonderful.  
  
"Oliver? What's in the trunk?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.  
  
He was damned if the chest in the corner didn't look exactly like the one the fake Moody had had back in Hogwarts. There was even a ring of seven keys on top of it. Oliver poked his head around the doorway to see what Harry was talking about. When his eyes landed on the trunk, he nodded slightly and stepped fully into the doorway. Harry forced himself not to laugh at the sight of his old Quidditch captain wearing an apron with the wand sticking out of one of the front pockets.  
  
"They're just some old books," the older man said, "Mostly texts from Hogwarts, but I've got some fictions and novels and such. Also, there's old clothes, presents from friends, small things from places I've been to with the team. Stuff like that."  
  
"So it's one of those that has seven compartments?"  
  
"Yeah. . Why do you ask?"  
  
"Eh . no reason, just curiosity. The DADA teacher last year had one of them, and I thought that yours looked a lot like it. That's all."  
  
Oliver gave Harry a sort of searching look as if he didn't quite believe him. After a short debate with himself however, he just gave a small shrug and looked back towards what Harry assumed was the kitchen.  
  
"I'm making dinner . should be ready shortly. Are you very hungry?"  
  
"No, not horribly, but I'm sure I'll manage to put some food away," Harry grinned.  
  
* * *  
  
Dinner in a wizard's house was always a fun experience. Oliver had created, quite literally, a dinner fit for a king from one of the cookbooks that his mother had given him. During their meal the dishes that had been used as serving platters were cleaning themselves in the sink and Harry found himself concentrating more than usual on Oliver to keep from staring at them. Oliver didn't seem to notice, but he had grown up with self- cleaning dishes.  
  
"So, Harry, what have you been up to this past year? I heard that Hogwarts hosted the Triwizard Tournament, but not much else."  
  
"Er, yeah. The Triwizard Tournament took place instead of Quidditch, which was a pain, but it was, eh, interesting."  
  
"Oh? And I suppose you were one of the contestants, hmm?" Oliver grinned.  
  
"Yes, actually. But my name was put in for me, under a different school name. Cedric was also one of the contestants. The others were Fleur Delacour from Beaubaxtons, and, you're going to love this, Viktor Krum from Durmstrang."  
  
Oliver's jaw nearly dropped through the table.  
  
"Viktor Krum! Are you sure?! You're not pulling my leg, are you?" he asked rapidly.  
  
"Told you you'd love it," Harry grinned, "No, I'm not pulling your leg and yes, I am quite sure of who it was. We even sort of worked together at one point. But I thought everyone knew that."  
  
Now Oliver looked sort of embarrassed. He found the table very interesting, indeed.  
  
"Well, as a professional Quidditch player, one doesn't really remember to keep up with the news. Most of the time it was practice or planning to get to our next game. Traveling can be quite tiring. Plus, I don't read what that Skeeter woman says. She's quite an annoying little bug, always hanging around - what's so funny?"  
  
Harry shook his head around his laughter, trying to speak.  
  
"Nothing really. It - just - would you believe that she's an unregistered animagus? She can turn into a beetle. She printed some really horrible stuff about me and Hermione during the year, so Hermione captured her in bug form and placed her in a jar for the summer."  
  
"So that's why nobody's heard of her all summer," Oliver mused.  
  
"Yep."  
  
The older boy grinned widely.  
  
"Thank God, I say."  
  
"So does Hermione. Skeeter reported that she was my girlfriend, but was cheating on me with Viktor, and people sent poor Hermione hate-mail, and curses, someone even sent undiluted bubotuber puss."  
  
"Ach! That stuff stings!" Oliver said sympathetically, wincing, "I know. I had a bit of an accident with it in my second year."  
  
Harry laughed, marveling at how free of his dark memories he was around the older boy. He found that he didn't even really mind talking about the Triwizard Tournament, as long as he wouldn't have to go into Cedric's death. Oliver noticed that Harry was finished with dinner and pointed his wand at the plate. Harry blinked in surprise as the plate disappeared and appeared in the sink, cleaning itself.  
  
"I don't think I'll ever get used to that," he said, shaking his head with a grin.  
  
"Don't worry," Oliver assured him, "You will eventually. Everyone does once they're out of Hogwarts. Unless they live with it, then they're always used to it."  
  
Harry nodded and fought to stifle a yawn, failing horribly. Oliver saw this and grinned.  
  
"Tired then?"  
  
The younger boy nodded slightly, following Oliver's lead and standing.  
  
"Right. Bed time. We can talk more in the morning and figure out what to do for the week, all right?"  
  
"Yeah, no problem. I am the guest here, remember," Harry grinned.  
  
"How could I forget? And, being my guest, I shall do everything possible to make your stay comfortable."  
  
Harry blushed, "You don't have to -"  
  
"I know I don't. But I'm going to anyway. Now, here's the thing. You've probably noticed I have only one bedroom."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Well, would you like it to yourself? I can sleep on the couch, I'm used to it -"  
  
"Oh, no! I can't throw you out of your own bed! I'll sleep on the couch, it's all right."  
  
Oliver looked hard at the young boy and Harry got the distinct feeling that the slight frown marring his features was directed, not at himself, but at the Dursleys.  
  
"No, you won't be sleeping on the couch, I don't care if you're used to it or not."  
  
"Well, then that leaves us with a bit of a problem. I won't kick you out of your room, and you won't let me sleep on the couch. So now what?"  
  
Oliver and Harry had at this point reached Oliver's bedroom and were standing in front of the fairly large bed. They both turned to stare at it.  
  
"Share?" Oliver asked.  
  
"Sure."  
  
"All right."  
  
Harry went to his suitcase and Oliver went to his closet to get their sleeping clothes. Then Oliver disappeared into the bathroom to change, leaving Harry to change in the room, blushing furiously.  
  
I can't believe I'm going to do this, he thought, I mean, I don't have any problems with sharing the bed, but this is Oliver! Who I'm -- no, I'm NOT attracted to him. Oh, this isn't getting me anywhere! Just stop thinking, Harry, and share the bloody bed. It's only Oliver.  
  
When he finished changing, he clambered into the bed and took off his glasses, placing them on the table next to him. Oliver came in soon after and climbed in on the other side, scooting over as far as possible, like Harry was.  
  
"'Night, Oliver."  
  
"G'night, Harry."  
  
And it was indeed, a good night for Harry. It was the first night that he slept without nightmares.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Right then, I've finished chapter two, aren't you proud of me? =^-^=  
  
Okay, now for the Author's Notes: I know this chapter is corny. I said in the summary that this is yet another cheesy story with a cheesy title from the Queen of Cheesy. So, if you don't like my cheesiness, don't continue reading.  
  
For the rest of you who actually like my stuff please either ignore or gently let me know what spelling mistakes I've made. Remember to review. Thankee! 


	3. Chapter Three

Notes: dear lord, it's been a while . . . Well, I hope you haven't all been holding your breath for me, but if you have, I'll try to make it up to you as best I can. For I have taken up the pen! . . . er . . . the keyboard! And I have once again begun to work!  
  
Disclaimer: see chapter one, please  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Day Two: Part One - Oliver's Plans  
  
Waking up was often something Harry wished he never had to do, unless he was at Hogwarts. Waking up meant another day of servitude (of a sort) to the Dursleys and a day in the Muggle reality where he was not allowed to be himself. Waking up wrapped in Oliver Wood's arms in a big, soft bed with naught a sound save a few passing wizards and witches outside, however, that was another thing entirely. Something he wished he could do every day.  
  
Wait a minute! Harry thought crossly to himself, I do not!  
  
/Oh, yes you do. And you know it, so stop being a stupid git and admit it./  
  
Okay.  
  
/Finally./  
  
I admit that I like waking up in a big, soft bed with naught a sound from anyone else.  
  
/Damn./  
  
Now go away.  
  
/Fine. But I'll be back. You can't ignore me forever./  
  
And why not?  
  
/Because I *am* you./  
  
Damn.  
  
Harry sighed slightly, annoyed at the little voice that was his logical/emotional brain, and moved as little as possible, not wanting to disturb the still-sleeping Oliver. Not that it had anything to do with wanting to stay wrapped in the older boy's arms. He imagined that the former Quidditch captain didn't get much sleep these days; that was all. It struck Harry suddenly that he should be blushing and thinking of a way to get out of this new situation; that would be the normal reaction for a guy. But Harry Potter was hardly a normal person, and truthfully it felt bloody good to be where he was, so he simply brushed it away as irrelevant.  
  
We will have to get up eventually, he though ruefully, if we're going to eat.  
  
As if on cue, Oliver's face scrunched up into a sleepy pout as he opened his eyes, ready to greet the day. Warm brown locked on intense green and held for a few minutes until Oliver smiled sleepily, tightening his hold. Then he realized who exactly was held against his chest like a giant teddy bear and he blushed furiously, releasing him. Harry laughed.  
  
"Mornin' Oliver. Sleep well?"  
  
"Erm . . . yeah, well," Oliver said around a yawn coupled with embarrassment.  
  
Harry laughed again, this time sounding slightly more awake. Neither boy made any moves to get out of bed just yet; both were still tired, though for different reasons. Finally Oliver's stomach growled and the two laughed slightly.  
  
"I think it's time for the brekky, then," Oliver said merrily. "Everyone up and out!"  
  
Harry groaned and rolled over, pausing only to pick up his glasses before he pushed himself off the bed. "Are you always this happy in the morning?"  
  
"Only for you," the older boy replied.  
  
"Cheeky."  
  
"Only for you."  
  
"I feel so special."  
  
"You should. Now help me make the bed, will you?"  
  
"You mean you don't have a house elf to do it for you? No spell to make the bed make itself?" Harry asked, feigning incredulity even as he moved to smooth the covers on his side. "I'm positively shocked!"  
  
Oliver chuckled and tucked his half of the covers under his pillow. Harry followed his example, unusually pleased to have been able to make someone laugh. They finished the bed in record time, according to the Quidditch player, and headed to the kitchen. Once there, Harry took a seat at the small table and watched as his old Captain puttered around the kitchen getting their breakfast ready. The Scottish boy spoke over his shoulder while he got the necessary ingredients for . . . whatever it was they were having. Harry belated realized he'd forgotten to ask.  
  
"Y'see, Potter, everything is done for us on the fly. I like the feeling I get when I come home, knowin' that *I* did it, in *my* house, an' no one else."  
  
Harry nodded quietly, realized that Oliver couldn't see him, and said, "oh". He felt somewhat of a fool but relaxed seeing that the older boy didn't seem to mind. They chatted amicably while breakfast was cooked about this and that, school, Quidditch, what would happen after school, friends, and even some of the latest news in the Muggle world, news to which Harry responded with a demand of explanation. Apparently Oliver had made some friends during his travels and so had taken up an interest in non- magical happenings. Not that Harry was jealous that these Muggles had stirred this interest in Oliver, no, it had absolutely nothing to do with that. But he supposed that it could have been interpreted that way if the startled look on Oliver's face meant anything. He made a mental note to make sure that the misunderstanding was cleared up as soon as possible.  
  
"So, Potter," Oliver said, stacking their dishes in the sink and charming them so they cleaned themselves. "What would yeh like to do?"  
  
"You mean today?"  
  
"Or tomorrow. I've got a week with yeh to meself, remember."  
  
Harry looked quizzically at Oliver, but the other miraculously found something to busy himself with by the chiller, and so he did not see the matching blush to the one he wore stain Oliver's face. Instead of worrying about reading between the lines, which he figured would just get them both sick of each other and besides, they *were* just innocent comments, Harry settled on thinking of something to do. He wanted to do something that he and Oliver could enjoy together, but suddenly realized that he knew nearly nothing about his former Quidditch captain except that he loved the game.  
  
"What do you recommend?" Harry finally asked. "You've lived around here a lot longer than me, you should know better."  
  
"Erm . . . there's supposed to be a good theater just outside of Godric's Hollow, and I know of a nice place to eat in Hogsmead I'm not sure yeh've been to . . . " Oliver trailed off, looking embarrassed. "S'ppose I'm not really sure what yeh'd like to do."  
  
"Theater and lunch, hm? Sounds lovely."  
  
"It does?!" Oliver asked, as if he couldn't quite believe that Harry really thought sitting with him for an extended period of time would be fun. "I mean, well . . . I've never been there meself but . . . that is . . . I'm sure we can still get tickets."  
  
"Brilliant. Let's head off then," Harry smiled, already pushing away from the table to put on his robes for the day.  
  
Oliver followed the suit, dashing up to his bedroom while Harry went to the living room for his trunk. They met less than ten minutes later, neither needing much time to primp like a female might, and Oliver opened the door for Harry.  
  
"After yeh, good sir," he said, mock chivalrous. He grinned down at the shorter boy, who smiled widely back up at him.  
  
"Thank you, good sir. Am I to assume I will be lent an arm, as well?"  
  
They both laughed and began the short walk from Oliver's flat to the theater. There would be a public fireplace for floo-transportation to the restaurant after the show.  
  
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~  
  
Author's Notes: All right, so that's part one of a two-part chapter. I know it's not a substance filled as some of my other stuff, but I'm too tired to think of anything else to write for now, and I really wanted to post this sometime this year. It'll get better with the next few chapters, promise. 


End file.
